


It Takes Two to Make a Scene

by prince_dejah



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: A little, Ableist Language, Body Dysphoria, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Drunken Kissing, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Canon, Smoking, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, and being on T, but a little bit more extreme, but they get whats coming, in their twenties, it gets real sappy in chapter 2, numbers is a mess, numbers is trans thank u next, see notes for trigger warnings, that might be triggering, theres a tiny bit of smut but not really, theres some explicit references, theres some intense slurs, they're young reckless and violent, to numbers' body pre top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_dejah/pseuds/prince_dejah
Summary: This was it. It was finally happening. The next three weeks seemed to stretch for so long, even though he had already waited years for it. He could make three weeks go by quickly, the assignments from Fargo had been plenty, he could just lose himself in work to make it go faster. Or get hammered. Yeah. That was a good plan.********************************************************************************************************************************Numbers celebrates as he gets closer to his top surgery date in the only way him and Wrench know how: getting drunk and beating up people.
Relationships: Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo), Wrenchers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. A Violent Noise

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> \- Transphobia, ableism, ableist and transphobic language, body dysphoria, mention of drug and alcohol use, smoking, slightly toxic relationship issues (if I missed anything please let me know!!! i dont want anyone to hav a bad time reading this lol)
> 
> Wrench and Numbers are in their twenties and they are MESSY. Like real fucking messy.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Dr. Richards told Numbers as he pulled his binder back on over his tattoo covered chest.

“I’m sorry?” He said. He hadn’t heard the doctors’ comment, the noise of shuffling his shirt back cancelling it out.

Dr. Richards looked a little annoyed. “You said you don’t smoke on your initial paperwork, but there’s cigarette smoke leftover on your clothes, and tobacco stains on your fingertips. You need to stop smoking sooner rather than later, it can complicate things as you’re healing after your surgery.”

“Oh. Right.” Numbers said a little sheepishly. He figured he was being slick by not saying anything, but of course the doctor knew. They could make medical observations and shit. 

“So, I’ll see you in three weeks, check out at the front desk before you go, the nurse will give you paperwork to take home to prep before you come in,” and with that, he was gone. 

Numbers was left alone in the little backroom for a minute, digesting everything. It was finally happening. He had finally saved enough and found a doctor who wasn’t interested in real markers of identification or legitimate documents about previous medical history. They had to travel all the way to Minneapolis to a seedy office with faded wallpaper and humming dim fluorescent lights. But Dr. Richards didn’t try to sugarcoat anything, didn’t try to pretend he was above taking extra money for no further questions and a cleaner operating room for the surgery. So, it worked out. 

This was it. It was finally happening. The next three weeks seemed to stretch for so long, even though he had already waited years for it. He could make three weeks go by quickly, the assignments from Fargo had been plenty, he could just lose himself in work to make it go faster. Or get hammered. Yeah. That was a good plan. 

Numbers threw on his jacket, a new leather jacket Wrench had picked out for him. Numbers was pretty sure it had come off a guy Wrench had mugged when they were a bit short on cash, but it was soft and beautiful, so he kept his mouth shut. He opened the door and made his way down the narrow hallway, passing closed rooms and dingy posters reminding him to wash his hands. He stopped at the little window beside the waiting room door and grabbed the paperwork from a grouchy nurse who looked at Numbers as if he had personally murdered her dog. 

He opened the door to the waiting room, and saw Wrench engrossed in a dog-eared paperback. This time it was _The Great Gatsby._ He was hunched over in a comically small plastic chair, one bruised hand underneath his chin, bright eyes flickering back and forth. Damn that fucker could read fast. He had started that book two days ago and he was almost finished.

Wrench looked up as Numbers approached. _All done?_

_Yep._ Numbers signed, a small smile escaping onto his grizzled face. He had been trying to grow a beard for so long and now that he was on testosterone, the hair kept piling up, so he had to trim it down. Today he just had a five o’clock shadow. 

Wrench nodded, and stood up, grabbing his patched-up coat that was slung over the seat next to him. _We going home?_ He signed. Numbers made a face. Their current home was a shitty apartment in Fargo above a noisy Italian restaurant where it constantly smelled like garlic. They hardly had any furniture, just a mattress, a small table and chair, and a TV that wasn’t hooked up to cable. It wasn’t really a home, just a semi- permanent spot amid a nomadic lifestyle. A place that was close to headquarters and was cheap. 

_Nah. I’m in the mood to get drunk._ Numbers signed. They left the office and walked towards their car. This time it was a shitty black ‘71 Toyota Grenada. The cars were always different colors, different makes and models. But they were always shitty. 

Wrench laughed a little. _Okay. I heard there’s some cool spots downtown._

_Anything beats Fargo._ Numbers said, tugging his coat closer. Damn it was cold. 

They got into their car, Wrench tried to turn up the heat, but gave up when the dial wouldn’t turn. Numbers immediately started looking for a cigarette, found a few in his pocket, grabbed a lighter, and was just about to light one when Wrench’s hand grabbed his unlit Virginia Slim. 

_What?_ Numbers signed; open palms paired with his frustrated glare. Wrench ignored him until they stopped at a red light.

_You shouldn’t smoke. Not when it’s so close._ Wrench took out his own lighter and lit the cigarette, taking a long drag.

_What are you, my mom? Who gives a shit?_

Wrench ignored him and kept driving, smoking seemingly just to piss Numbers off. They stopped at another light.

_Real C-L-A-S-S-Y, Wes. And how the fuck would you know anyway? You’re not a fucking doctor._

Wrench blew out a perfect ring. Bastard. _I’ve been reading._ Numbers hated how he could sign and smoke, the cigarette dangling between his lips as he did.

_Oh, you’ve been reading._ Numbers mocked his signs, rolling his eyes, folded his arms, and dared Wrench to say something else. 

Wrench shrugged and finished the cigarette, tossing the butt out the window, signing quickly as the light changed. _I gotta take care of you. So, I should know some stuff._

Numbers huffed, and sulked, looking out the window, his reflection staring back at him. All the anger, stubbornness, pride, and sensitivity his twenty-three-year-old body could muster. Damnit. Wes read up on this. Of course he did. 

They had been off and on again for four years now. When they were together, it was usually great for the first few weeks, a short-lit fuse by the next, and explosive by the time one of them called it off. If Wes was the one to call it off, it usually ended with Wes in a blind rage, angrily breaking something, throwing Grady’s things out a window, punching Grady, or slamming the door on his way out. If it was Grady, it was usually done in drunken or high stupor, with screams, empty threats, and snot-filled tears, throwing Wes’ things out a window and sometimes involved punching Wes. But no matter how many rebounds they had with random boys (and in Numbers’ case, occasionally girls), they always found their way back to each other. It never hurt that they were usually paired on the same assignment. Fargo never knew about their romantic relationship, if you could call it that, simply just put them together since they had always been together. 

The past five months they had gotten back together after a particularly nasty breakup involving two bullet holes in their apartment wall and Grady having the loudest sex possible with a boy who was impossibly tall and had hair strikingly similar to Wes. This was one of the longer periods of time they were together. It was probably helpful that Grady wasn’t shooting heroin at this point, Wes made sure to burn it all one night after coming home to find Grady passed out on the floor. The detox hadn’t been great for either of them, but now Grady only drank and smoked, both pot and cigarettes, which was quite the improvement. 

Wes was now more involved with Grady’s transition, driving him to doctor’s appointments, helping him get clothes that fit right, administrating some hormone shots when Grady was too tired, and apparently reading up on the surgical process. It was comforting. The one person who knew Grady, truly saw him for what he was, flaws and all, was practically meant to be with him during all of this. But damnit if he didn’t want a fucking cigarette in this cold. 

Numbers punched Wrench, softly, gently, and Wrench smiled as he kept driving. _Thanks,_ was unspoken but understood between the two of them. 

They pulled off down a sidestreet and parked. In front of them was a bar with neon lights flickering. _The Jungle._ There was music filtering in towards their car and the sound of laughter as men opened the door. 

_Gay bar?_ Numbers asked.

_Yeah. Heard about it from a- uh,_ Wrench’s hands fumbled a bit, and Numbers bit back a laugh. 

_You can say R-E-B-O-U-N-D, dummy, it’s fine._

Wrench’s ears turned the slightest shade of pink. He didn’t like talking about being with other men besides Numbers. Numbers thought it was cute since he was always so cool and collected and Numbers was the one always flustered. 

Numbers leaned in and pressed his lips against Wrench’s, tasting the slightest bit of smoke and peppermint gum. 

_C’mon._ He signed, breaking the kiss, and opening the car door. _If I can’t smoke, I’m gonna get shitfaced. Three more fucking weeks._

Wrench smiled and followed. Numbers knew he didn’t particularly like enabling any of Numbers’ bad habits but they both liked to drink a little too much.

They made their way to the front, and after showing the bouncer their shitty fake ID’s, they entered. The bouncer eyed Grady who wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t look especially passing without his full beard or because his ID said his name was Jack Daniel, but Grady eyed him back and the bouncer let them through. Numbers had been to a lot of bars in his time, but this was different. Dozens of plants crowded the entrance and bar, illuminated by more neon lights, even more strung up in the ceiling, stems and leaves dangling between floating paper lanterns, tall palm branches swaying as the door shut. There was a giant canoe against the wall that was carved out and had built in shelves with various types of liquor. Little Tiki statues were scattered around on the various standing tables where men talked over drinks. There was a small wooden floor next to a sound system where some men were brave enough to dance. There was a decent sized crowd, most either talking loudly over the vibrating throbbing music, standing at various tables, or ordering drinks at a bar. 

_Okay, this is a step up from our usual H-A-U-N-T-S._ Numbers signed to Wrench as they made their way to the bar and found two empty seats. _There’s a theme other than sadness and G-R-I-M-E._ Wrench laughed and Numbers’ glowed, he loved being able to make Wrench laugh.

The bartender initially ignored Grady, and tried asking Wes what he wanted, much to Grady’s annoyance. That happened a lot, Wrench was just so fucking masculine. He didn’t even try, he just was. 

“Whatcha in the mood for, handsome?” The bartender gave Wes the once over, beady eyes stopping at his chest and arms before peering over the counter to look at what was between his legs.

Wrench made a confused face, even though Numbers knew he could make out what he was saying, and could order his own drink just fine. 

“My _boyfriend_ is deaf,” Numbers said loudly, giving an unsettling smile. “And we’ll take four shots of tequila.”

“Oh. Sorry. We don’t get much of that in here,” the bartender said, shrugging. “Didn’t even know deaf guys could be gay.”

Numbers immediately jumped up off his stool, reaching for his knife that was tucked in his boot as the bartender turned to get their drinks, when he felt a strong hand on his thigh. He looked over at Wrench who clearly understood what the bartender was saying. Wrench shook his head. Not worth it. 

Numbers let out a hiss and grumbled as he sat back down. He had fought so many random people when they made fun of Wrench that Wrench kept a tally in one in the margins of one of his books. He hated that Wrench was right. They hadn’t even gotten their drinks, no sense in making a scene now.

The bartender shoved them their drinks, and Numbers forked over the cash, and the bartender didn’t even ask if he wanted to start at tab. Numbers immediately threw back his head, and gulped the first one, letting it burn his throat. Wrench did the same. Numbers was about to throw back the second one, when Wrench put his hand on his forearm. 

_You good?_

Numbers nodded. _You know I hate that shit._

Wrench shrugged. _I know. I don't like it either, but I'm not about to let some rat faced idiot ruin my night._

Numbers let out a snort, chugged the second shot and watched Wrench idly sip his. He turned in his stool to look around the bar. Most of the men were with friends, laughing and drinking, probably excited to begin their weekend. There were a few couples in the corner, tangled up in each other’s limbs and faces, making out, and a few looking like they were doing something more under the tables. A few couples were on the dance floor, grinding to some Madonna song. Gay men had the worst music taste, Numbers thought as he swiveled his seat back, so he was facing Wrench. 

Wrench was still sipping his drink, who the fuck sipped a shot? But he had taken off his jacket, and had his flannel rolled up at the elbows, his muscular forearms showing. God. Grady loved his arms so much. He needed those arms slung around his hips. But he wasn’t that drunk, not yet. Wrench had no problem being affectionate in public, much to Grady's embarrassment. Numbers would practically run out of the bathroom at whatever bar they were in after they had fucked, desperately trying to fix his clothes that had become askew and hide the many hickeys Wrench had given him. And Wrench would saunter out behind him with the worst sex hair possible, buttons all wrong, head held high and daring anyone to meet his gaze. No, Numbers wasn’t that brave, he needed alcohol to help with that. 

Wrench finished his drink and tapped on the wood of the bar as Numbers was starting to feel a buzz. He got the attention of the bartender and held up two fingers. The bartender gave a look of contempt but got them more shots and Numbers also ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. He didn’t particularly care for how most liquor tasted, he had quite the sweet tooth, but would chicken out ordering a cocktail at most of the bars they went to for fear of seeming too feminine. At a gay bar and a little tipsy, he felt his insecurities slip away. Wrench raised an eyebrow at the order, but Numbers shook him off. He was celebrating damnit, it was okay if he got really drunk. 

The bartender practically slammed the drink in front of Numbers who bared his teeth. He had already downed the other shot, and eagerly took the next drink. 

_Did you eat today?_ Wrench signed, with an annoyingly concerned look on his face.

_What are you, my mom?_ Numbers signed, a little more sloppily. 

_Already made that joke, smart guy._ Wrench signed.

_Oh. Well, whatever, I’m good, don’t worry about me._

_I’m not cleaning up any barf._ Wrench signed, downing his third shot.

Numbers made a face but slowed down his drinking. Wes had actually done more than his fair share of drunk or high babysitting, holding Grady’s head over a toilet, wrapping a new tattoo in cellophane so Grady could take a much needed shower, holding Grady when he was having a bad trip, and one time even driving them to McDonalds’ at three a.m. because Grady was going to cry if he didn’t get a McFlurry. The machine was broken, and Grady sobbed. He wasn’t exactly proud of that.

_You wanna dance?_ Numbers asked after a few bad songs had played, and he was now drunk enough to not care, his signs getting clumsier and clumsier. 

Wrench put a finger to his chin, sarcastically pretending to be lost in thought. _Well that will depend on what’s playing as I am a very good judge of music._

Numbers shoved him, and Wrench laughed and lost his balance a bit on his stool. Numbers got up off his stool, and got in Wrench’s face, looking at his bright eyes. _Dance with me. Now._

Wrench locked eyes with him. Wrench got up off his stool and pulled Grady towards him. _Show me what you got, pretty boy._

There had been plenty of jobs where they had barely escaped by the skin of their teeth and the pounding of Grady’s heart made him realize what living felt like. But in that moment, he swore it was Wrench who nearly killed him.

They made their way to the dance floor, another pop song blaring over the sound system. There were more people now as it had gotten later, more bodies smashed together, sweat and the stink of booze dripping mixed with hushed whispers, loud bursts of laughter and men singing along poorly. Wrench led the way, people automatically moving to the side as he was one of the taller people in there, and his boyfriend was definitely on the shorter side. There was a good beat to the song, and Numbers began moving his body to the music, hips rocking and feet stumbling over each other, and hands grazing Wrench who danced slowly behind him, kind of cradling him. Numbers would never admit it, and neither would Wrench but he was good at dancing. Whether it was alone in their apartment, singing to himself, dancing as he unpacked their takeout order, thinking Wrench wasn’t looking, or dancing shamelessly well, high in a club, Numbers’ seemed to just melt into the music. Wrench always felt out of place for obvious reasons, but he liked to think even if he wasn’t deaf, he would be a poor dancer. His limbs were always just too long, and he was too tall to be fully in control of his moves. But Numbers? He and the music were one. 

More people filed in, and Wrench and Numbers were pushed closer together, and Numbers could really feel the tequila. He started getting more brazen with his dancing, groping Wrench who leaned into his movements, grinding up and down, hands trailing above his head, sometimes, grabbing onto Wrench’s face and pulling him for a sloppy kiss that had way more tongue than usual. Wrench simply followed his moves, and when Numbers put his hand on Wrench’s chest, could feel that they shared the same excitement, his heart fluttering, the gentlest thing about him. 

Eventually, they became more entangled, the kisses became heavier and longer, the grinding became more intense, Wrench gave Numbers a long-lasting hickey and Numbers practically moaned, but he wasn’t THAT drunk. After another song (had the music gotten louder?), Numbers pulled away, breathless. Wrench immediately looked concerned, those puppy dog eyes always searching in case something was wrong. 

_I’m fine, dumbass._ Numbers signed. _I just need to catch my breath._

Wrench smirked. _Getting old?_

Numbers flipped him off. 

Wrench grabbed him by his belt straps on his jeans and pulled him for another kiss, this time Numbers did moan. He did break away though, this time more breathless but not for the right reasons. 

“Wes…” he gasped, not even able to think clearly, let alone sign. His chest was tight, he couldn't get any air in his lungs. He needed air, fuck, he couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t he breathe?

Wes’ eyes immediately grew big, and he grabbed Grady's hand, and pulled him through the churning crowd. Grady stumbled, but they found their way towards the back exit, out onto a patio. The icy winter air shot through Grady as he gasped again, this time able to breathe. He inhaled shakily, and exhaled, repeating until he could see Wes in front of him, why was Wes so short? Then he realized he was bent over, arms leaning against his own knees and Wes was crouched down in front of him. He didn’t even know he had changed from standing to this pose. Fuck.

_Are you okay?_ Wes asked, doing that thing where he titled his head and frowned, looking so concerned and so hot. 

Grady nodded and took another gulp of air. 

_Binder?_

Grady nodded again, the spots on his vision finally going away. It was going to be so great to not have to worry about that piece of shit article of clothing. The spots cleared and he noticed a group of men huddling around the back of the patio, smoking and just kind of staring at them. Which happened a lot with them, communicating in ASL and all.

_Thank you._ Grady signed, rising so he was back to standing. Wes followed.

Wes gingerly reached out and cupped Grady’s cheek. _You really scare me sometimes, smart guy._

Grady rolled his eyes and waved him off. _Don’t be so dramatic, I’m fucking fine._

Wes let out a huff and folded his arms, and turned away so he couldn't see Grady. Grady sighed and tapped his arm to get him to see his signs.

_Sorry. Defense Mechanism._ Grady signed. Wes unfolded his arms. _I am okay._

_Do you wanna go?_ Wes asked. 

Grady pulled him closer, grabbing onto his flannel. _I want you to finish what you started._

Wes pushed him against the brick wall of the back building, his arm over Grady’s head, hand pressed against the brick, the rest of his body pressed against Grady’s shuddering frame. _That can be arranged._

Numbers gave a grin but put a hand on Wrench’ chest before he could go any further. _First get me another drink._

_Oh, so now you’re giving the orders?_

_Temporarily._

Wrench laughed and backed off the wall. _Okay, I’ll be right back._

_I’ll be waiting._

_It’s not too cold?_

_I still need to catch my breath._

Wrench nodded and made his way back inside, looking back at Numbers who gave him a small knowing smile. He had his boyfriend whipped. 

Numbers let out another sigh, inhaling the cold night air. Music filtered out to him. Finally, a good song. [Pat Benatar’s ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIosHNpGjTE)_[Heartbreaker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIosHNpGjTE). _As he was considering going back inside because it was January in Minneapolis and it was a miracle it was above zero, he noticed the small group of men at the other end of the patio, who were still staring. There were four of them, all relatively tall, real butch looking with tattoos and piercings, short hair or shaven heads, some with beards, some without. They eyed Numbers who eyed them back. The one on the far right, the taller one with dyed short blonde hair, took a long drag on his cigarette, still looking at Numbers, as if he was daring him to say something.

“If you’re looking to suck my dick, I’m sorry to say my boyfriend’s got that position filled,” Numbers called out. Even if he wasn’t totally drunk, he would probably still say some dumb shit like that, according to Wrench. 

“You mean the retard?” One of the shorter ones chuckled. 

“Watch your fucking mouth or I’ll close it for you,” Numbers growled, already balling up his fists. 

“You’ll do what now?” The taller one on the right said, still smoking as he made his way towards Numbers. He was a tall motherfucker, about Wrench's height, wearing dark clothes that contrasted with his bleach blonde hair.

“I’ll. Close. It. For. You.” Grady repeated, hating how he had to stick his head up to see the gang leader. 

The man laughed and blew smoke into Grady’s face who resisted an urge to cough. “And how would that work? See I’m not sure what a lady is doing here at a gay club, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure it would be impolite to hit a lady. So I’m assuming, and you know what they say about assuming, but I think... men also shouldn’t hit trannies."

Numbers almost lost it then and there, but he remembered Wrench’s slow headshakes at the bartenders’ offensive comment. _Not worth it._

Numbers took a deep breath and bared his teeth in a grin. It took all his willpower not to grab his knife and slice open this man's stomach so his intestines fell onto the floor. “I’m gonna say this once. I’m gonna need you to fuck off.” 

“Pardon? I’m gonna need you to say that again.” The man said with a sly smile. 

Numbers had his hand in his boot, knife clutched in his hand, when he heard a violent noise, a deep hoarse voice behind him that had a slightly wrong pitch. “Fuck... Off.”

Suddenly Wrench was there, punching the ever-living shit out of this stranger. Blow after blow to the face, a kick to the chest, the guy couldn’t get one hit in, and the man was on the ground, and Wrench was on top of him, absolutely pummeling him, his face quickly becoming bloody and raw. One of the man’s friend’s ran past them to go inside, and the other two tried to drag Wrench off of their friend with no luck, Wrench quickly taking them on too, fists raised like a boxer, dodging punches, throwing with everything he had. 

Normally in a fight, during a job, they were a team. WrenchandNumbers. But in this case, it was all Wrench. He was fire, he was feral, he was unstoppable. Blood splattered onto his face and hair, he took a punch in the nose, but he simply spit and punched back, harder, faster. He grabbed one of the men and literally threw him to the ground, jumping on top of him, and pummeling him into the ground, kicking the other man off of him, then beating him too, punches to the face and chest, knocking out teeth and breaking bones. He was seeing red. 

So, Numbers simply walked over to where the tall man blonde, who had started everything, who now lay bloody and whimpering, took the lighter out of the strangers’ pocket, took out one of his own Virginia Slims, and lit it. He even pulled out a chair on the patio, sat down, and smoked as his boyfriend beat the ever-living fuck out of the men.

Eventually all three men lay on the ground, bloody, twitching, and generally un-moving. Wrench’s body was heaving, each breath just as intense and raw as the last, his shoulders moving up and down with his chest. His hair was tousled, his face speckled with blood, both his own and others, his nose was twisted, probably broken, his flannel ripped, his fists bloody and bruised, still curled into fists. After a few moments, he looked over at Numbers’ who was still sitting and smoking in the corner of the patio. 

_You good?_ Numbers signed, taking a long drag.

Wrench gave a dry laugh and nodded. 

Numbers eventually got up and walked over to Wrench, gingerly stepping over the writhing bodies. One of them didn’t move at all. But Numbers honestly didn’t give a shit. 

He finished his cigarette and dropped it on the chest of the shorter man who had called Wes a retard. He heard a groan as he stamped it out with the toe of his boot. 

Wrench looked at Numbers, and those crazy bright intense eyes finally seemed to settle down. They stared at each other, Pat Benatar’s voice finally softening as another song came on. 

_That was so fucking hot._ Grady signed so shakily and poorly that Wes looked confused. “Shit. Hot. You are hot. Sexy.” He gave up signing and just mouthed slowly.

Wes gave a crazy, blood splattered grin, and Numbers swore he was never so in love. “Kiss me.”

Wes immediately complied, their teeth clashing together as they found each other, tongues searching and deepening their kiss, Grady breathed in Wes, the taste of blood, full of iron and sweat and hints of booze and cigarettes, his hair grazing Grady’s forehead as they leaned in, blood dripping onto Grady’s neck from an open slash on Wes’ knuckles as he cradled Grady’s head.

“Yeah! It’s those two crazy fucks!” A whiny yell cut through the air. 

They broke apart, and there was the bartender, the fourth friend who had decided to run, and a cop all staring unbelievably at the carnage Wrench had left with his bare hands. Shit. It was time to go. 

Numbers pulled Wrench into a sprint, and they quickly hopped the fence, and ran around towards the front of the building, back towards their car, with sounds of people following them. They jumped in, slammed their doors, and Wrench peeled away from the curb, backing out so hard that he hit a parking sign. Numbers let out a drunken laugh that was also a holler, and they sped through every red light, outrunning whoever was chasing them. 

The speedometer said 102 mph but it was old, and Numbers was sure they were going faster. They zoomed down the highway, under a blanket of stars, windows down, despite the frigid winter air, and Numbers let out several laughs and screams as Wrench grinned, his foot unrelenting on the gas. They were twenty-something murderers, sometimes for hire, sometimes because the situation called for it, and they were in love and they were invincible. 

  
  



	2. To Feel Him There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Numbers recovers from surgery, is a general idiot, and Wrench is the reluctant loving caretaker.

"So, you’re all set to be discharged, just remember to get lots of rest, don’t try and lift your arms for any reason, use ice packs, and change your dressing in one to two days.” Dr. Richards said, always speaking rather hurriedly, as if he had more patients to half-ass care for. 

Numbers nodded slowly. 

“I’ll send in, your uh,” Dr. Richards couldn’t bring himself to say the obvious, so he settled on Wrench’s’ fake name. “James. If you have questions, you can follow up with an appointment or call the front desk. I’ll see you in six months.” 

Numbers was left alone again as the door quietly closed. The anesthesia had worn off mostly in the past few days that Numbers had been in the tiny little operation room and Numbers’ could feel a dull ache in his chest. His chest. That was flat, that was his, that all him, finally all him. He gingerly placed a hand, guiding his fingers across his bandages, exploring the new feeling of flatness, reveling in how smooth and even it was, ignoring the flare ups of pain. There was a mirror on the side table, and he took it, angling it so he could see his chest. Fuck. 

He liked to think he didn’t cry much, trying to emulate all the men around in his life, stoic and aloof, not in touch with their emotions. But he did cry often, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. This time was different though. The sobs weren’t pleading or mournful. The cries that escaped his lips that he tried to stifle with a hand, the hot tears sliding down his cheeks were all uncontrollable and joyful. He had never loved his body more.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Numbers quickly wiped his tears away as Wrench entered with a rickety wheelchair. His face immediately lit up seeing Numbers up against the pillows, conscious and giving a small smile, eyes probably still a little red. Fargo had sent him on an assignment literally the moment Numbers went into surgery, and it's not they could really say no. So Wrench hadn't been there when Numbers had first woken up, that had been hard. But the medication had helped and Numbers was mostly sleeping during the day anyways. He had counted the moments until he would see those bright eyes again.

Wrench tucked the wheelchair against the wall and sat down on the hospital bed, kicking away an IV that was no longer attached to Numbers.

_How are you feeling?_ Wrench signed slowly, as if he was whispering. 

_Amazing._ Grady signed after fumbling for the right word. _Also, a little drugged._

Wrench smiled and reached to move a strand of Grady’s hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t been able to style it like he usually did, and it was thick, messy, and sticking up everywhere. His beard had grown out in the three weeks leading up to the surgery, it was also unkempt. Grady took a deep sigh, and leaned into Wes, who cradled him, wrapping his ridiculous lumberjack arms around Grady, careful not to touch his healing chest. Wes rested his chin on top of Grady’s messy hair, the strands tickling his bruised face. Wes’ black eye and bruises were finally starting to fade after his fight at the club, although the nose would take longer to heal. Grady liked the crookedness.

They stayed like that for a few peaceful moments. Grady just needed to feel him there, just for a minute. Just to feel his breathing, to know he was here with him. He had missed him so much, the only person who he actually gave a shit about, now back at his side. Wes was the one who eventually broke the moment, tapping Grady back awake who was slipping back into unconsciousness. 

_Let’s go home._

Grady nodded sleepily, grateful for Wes who helped him into his hoodie and coat, into the wheelchair, and into the car, back to Fargo. 

******************************************************************************************

_What do you mean you were drinking? I’ve only been gone for an hour!_ Wes signed angrily. _How are you this much of a fucking idiot?! You’re not supposed to drink!_

Numbers rolled his eyes, and raised his hand to sign, probably something profane, but then quickly leaned back over the paper bag that had held their takeout food from the previous night, and promptly vomited. 

Wrench had to go to headquarters to meet with some big wig clients. Fargo always picked Wrench over Numbers if they were separated. Wrench was more menacing, and they liked that he couldn’t hear, they just told him to stand in a corner with his arms crossed, scowling. The two clients were sweating by the end of the meeting, and Wrench was sore from standing for so long. He had then hurried home, worried about Numbers, and found Numbers tipsy, sitting on their mattress, leaned against the wall, watching TV (Wrench had siphoned the cable from their downstairs neighbor last week) almost drunk, a half empty bottle of scotch on the floor. 

That was twenty minutes ago. Now Numbers was a constant state of vomit, his body not used to having so much to drink in such a short time since he had been hospitalized. 

Numbers lifted his head out of the bag to glare at Wrench, who glared back, then smacked the back of Numbers’ head for good measure.

“OW! FUCK!” He shrieked, cradling his head where Wrench had hit him. 

_Why. Were. You. Drinking. You. Stupid. Fuck._ Wrench signed angrily. He was so pissed, of course Numbers’ didn’t give a shit about his own health, it was up to Wrench to make sure he didn’t die. It was a miracle any of them were still alive.

Numbers was still rubbing his head but let go have both hands to sign back. _I. Was. Bored._

Another smack on the back of the head, another string of curses from Numbers who tried to kick Wrench but had to lean his head back into the bag to puke. 

Numbers let out a groan and used the back of his hand to wipe flecks of vomit off his face. “Ah, shit. Fuck.” he sighed. He hated it when Wrench pulled out the same tactics that he used to get information out of targets on him. No wonder it worked so well, that shit hurt. _Didn’t know you had left. Was scared._

Wrench frowned, and titled his head in confusion, letting the arm he had raised to smack Numbers drop. Sure, he had left Numbers asleep while he slipped out the door, but he figured the meeting wouldn’t take that long, his pager had said it would only be thirty minutes. He didn’t want to wake Numbers, he hadn’t been sleeping well at night, and wanted him to rest during the day. But shit, Numbers had been scared? Of what? Then Wrench thought about it, and looked at Numbers, who had curled around himself, clutching the paper bag. Saw how he had averted his eyes from Wrench.

_You know I’m not going anywhere, right?_ Wrench signed; his expression had softened. 

Numbers snorted. _Yeah. I know._ He uncurled his limbs and loosened his death grip on the bag. _It was stupid._

_Yeah, it was stupid. You’re stupid._

Numbers gave a shit-eating grin and flipped Wrench off before his head was back in the paper bag, vomiting again. 

******************************************************************************************

Wrench didn’t think he was overbearing. Just checking in here and there, making chicken noodle soup, changing Grady’s bandages, simple things. Numbers was the one who freaked out when Wrench offered the sponge bath. Wrench couldn’t believe him sometimes. They had seen each other naked countless times, fucked countless times, but Numbers would not allow Wrench to help him shower. Wrench guessed it was some weird pride thing more than anything else. 

But when he felt the floor vibrate, like a body hitting the ground, something he knew all too well, Wrench decided he was done catering to Numbers’ bullshit. Wrench immediately busted the door open, thank god Numbers hadn’t locked it otherwise the door would have ended up in splinters, and found Numbers sprawled over on the cracked and dirty tiles. He was face down, naked, one leg still in their shower, the rest of him out a tangle of arms and torso on the tiles, the water still running. 

_Jesus Christ._ Wrench panicked and grabbed Numbers’ shoulders and turned him over, so he was facing Wrench. Eyes were still shut, he was unresponsive. Wrench gave him a good slap across the face. Numbers’ gasped, eyes shot open, and punched Wrench in the middle of his face, hitting his broken nose. Wrench let out a groan, hands immediately letting go of Numbers and grasping his nose which burned like hell. 

“Shit, ah fuck, what,” Numbers fumbled, looking around dazed and confused. “Fuck,” he muttered, raising a hand to his chest, and immediately hissing in pain. He looked at Wrench who was still gingerly holding his nose which was slightly bleeding. “Fuck, are you okay?”

Wrench nodded, tilting his head back to stop the flow of blood. _You passed out._

“What?” _What? How? I was just showering._

Wrench shrugged and pinched his nose slightly before signing. _You’re recovering from surgery. Your body is weak. And you didn’t eat anything last night._

Numbers grabbed his towel off the toilet, wincing in pain as he did so, wrapping it around his torso, as well as he could on the floor. _So?_

_So? So?_ Wrench signed angrily, a small drop of blood out of his nose and onto his white t-shirt. _That’s probably why you passed out, dumbass, you didn’t eat or drink anything._

_I wasn’t hungry, dumbass!_ Numbers signed angrily back, now shakily getting to his feet. _This surgery has made me-_ “Ah- fuck!” he hissed as his legs gave out on him, slowly collapsing back on the floor.

But Wrench was quicker, simply sliding underneath’s Numbers’ arm and propping him up on his feet, careful to weave another arm around on his side, avoiding his chest which was reddened, his incisions looking angry and raw. Numbers’ was muttering something at Wrench, but very weakly, Wrench couldn’t read his lips. They hobbled back over to the couch; a raggedy thing Wrench had bought a thrift store. Now their studio apartment had a bedroom and a living room, Numbers had joked. Just as Wrench was gingerly placing Numbers onto the couch and was going to get him some clothes, Numbers’ pulled Wrench onto the couch next to him. Wrench let out a grunt, and flopped down next to him, the couch springs groaning in protest.

Numbers’ yanked Wrench’s arm over him so it was encircling Numbers, and Wrench leaned in, so his chin was on the top of Numbers’ wet hair. Numbers’ mumbled something else and tucked his head into Wrench’s shoulder. Wrench almost laughed at how quickly Numbers went from angry to needy. Wrench traced his fingers over Numbers’ side, noticing a couple of new bruises that were starting to form. 

_Idiot,_ Wrench thought, looking loving at Numbers who now had his eyes closed. Wrench could feel his chest rising and falling slowly. Even in his sleep, his brow was furrowed, as if he was about to yell at something. He was such an angry person, full of rage, hunger, pride, fiercely independent to a fault, and beautiful. He was so beautiful. Wrench traced his fingers down his spine. His bruised skin covered in tattoos that Wrench didn’t understand, a snake in a skull, a flaming heart, an angel face, and some ivy crawling across his stomach. There was soft, curly hair covering his slight body that was slightly darker than the hair on top of his hair which was wet, matted, and sticking up. His eyes closed and framed with thick dark eyelashes. His pretty lips parted ever so slightly.

Numbers’ grimace eventually softened and his breath slowed even more. After Wrench knew Numbers’ was asleep, he placed a kiss on top of his head, settled in next to him, and let his eyes close. 

******************************************************************************************

_You are unbelievable._ Wrench signed. 

_I’m healing!_ Numbers whined, flopped out on their mattress, shirtless, wearing only boxer briefs. They were going to have such a high electric bill; they were blasting their radiator, so it was almost hot in the apartment. Numbers had never said anything, but Wrench had felt him shiver next to him at night and saw his lips trembling in his sleep. Wrench immediately slipped out of bed and cranked the thermostat. Numbers had slept so long that night that he hadn’t heard Wrench drop a pan or wake up when Wrench pulled their blinds open, letting in strong winter sun. Numbers had finally woken up at two p.m., with the worst bedhead and drool streaked across his cheek. Wrench laughed and Numbers had thrown a pillow at him, but it didn’t get very far before he gasped in pain. Wrench dropped the omelet he had made as he rushed over to Numbers who was clutching his side in pain, but swatted Wrench off, signing he was fine. Wrench ignored him and stayed at his side for thirty minutes before finally getting up to make another omelet.

Numbers had been avoiding the painkillers, Wrench suspected it was the fear of getting back into opioids, but he had been grimacing and groaning all day, much to Wrench's annoyance. He finally took some only when Wrench took a bottle and glass of water and slammed it in front of Numbers. He had swallowed them but only after he threw a scowl at Wrench. Wrench could tell they were working; Numbers’ signs had become much sloppier and he had these ridiculously long-lasting grins. _Please?_ He signed, making his eyes large, and fluttering his eyelashes.

_So that’s a large pack of F-U-N-Y-U-N-S, a D-I-E-T C-O-K-E, and pudding?_

_Yes, my tall, strong man._

Wrench rolled his eyes, and scooped Numbers up in his arms and onto his lap, to which Numbers let out a gasp and a giggle. _You’re real good at taking care of me, handsome._ He signed, letting his fingers on his other hand tighten their grip on Wes’ shoulder. He was also shirtless; it was hot in their apartment. 

_It’s a thankless job, and yet, I do it._ Wrench signed and Numbers laughed, shoving him a bit. 

_Are you sure it’s thankless?_ Numbers signed, tilting his head to give Wrench insane bedroom eyes.

Wes sighed and buried his face in Grady’s neck, breathing in the smell of soap and coffee. He was warm against Wes’ face, and he began to kiss Grady’s neck, softly, gently, then harder as he felt the vibrations of Grady’s moans, felt his fingers move through his hair, tightening. Wes moved up, past his neck, on his jaw, cheek, and then slid his lips against Grady’s who sighed happily, his breath hot against Wrench’s mouth. They kissed longer and deeper, Wrench’s tongue pushing over Numbers’, Numbers twisting his fingers through his hair, Wrench’s hands scratching down Numbers’ back, sliding into his briefs. Numbers let out another moan that Wrench caught in his mouth. Wrench suddenly pulled away, with Numbers letting a noise of protest, his face immediately scrunching up into a trademark scowl. 

_Before you go pouting, I gotta run to the store_ , Wrench signed to which Numbers rolled his eyes. _It’s eleven-thirty, they’re gonna close soon._

Numbers pouted, crossing his arms over his chest dramatically, then quickly uncrossing them as a look of pain flashed across his face. 

Wrench sighed and touched Numbers’ face, brushing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. _I’ll be right back; don’t you go anywhere pretty boy._

Numbers broke his pout and gave a grin, stretching and then laying on his back, looking so good and knowing he did. _I’ll be right here._

Wrench leaned over, planted a kiss on Numbers’ lips, and got up. He threw on a shirt, his coat, and shoes, and grabbed his keys. He opened the door and looked at Numbers who gave a lazy wave and a smirk, definitely high on his painkillers. God, he loved that fucking idiot. 

******************************************************************************

Forty minutes later, Wrench was climbing back up the creaking wooden steps back to their shitty apartment. There was a corner store about four blocks from their place that he picked everything up from. That didn’t take long. But he also picked up some weed from Numbers’ dealer, and that had taken a while, the guy was late. He was a weasel of a bastard, but Numbers got a good price. Wrench figured the weed would help with some of the pain, so he set up a time but of course the guy was late. 

He turned the key, and opened the door, entered, and shut it behind him. He tossed his keys on the tiny kitchenette counter, placing the paper bag full of Numbers’ ridiculous requests next to the keys. He had also got hostess cakes, remembering that it was one Numbers’ favorites. Wrench took off his jacket, placing it on the one kitchen chair they had, and looked over at Numbers.

Numbers was curled up on the mattress, fast asleep. His face, open and vulnerable, hair over his forehead, as his breath came in and out. He was clutching one of Wrench’s flannels and had half of it tucked under his head. Wrench scoffed and smiled. _Big tough guy._

The lights were still on, clearly Numbers hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Wrench took out the groceries, put the diet coke and pudding in their mini-fridge, and the Funyuns, Hostess cakes, and weed into their one cabinet. He would have to go get real groceries eventually. Wrench did not have the same taste as Numbers, he spent too long eating spam and ramen noodles growing up poor as dirt. Now that they had money, not much, but enough to buy roasting chickens and fresh vegetables and good liquor. It was a small improvement and Wrench loved cooking, even though he didn’t always eat. Numbers loved to eat, but mostly junk food, despite Wrench’s constant disapproval. 

He washed a few of their dishes in the tiny sink, wiped down the counter, and yawned. Fuck he was tired. He shuffled off his jeans and over-shirt, and clicked off the light, making his way over to their bed. 

Numbers stirred when Wrench shifted his weight onto the bed. Wrench laid down opposite to him, placing a hand on his face, tracing his jawline. He groggily pushed Wrench away, much to Wrench’s surprise. His eyes were still closed but his lips were moving slowly, and Wrench could make out the words.

“No thank you, no thank you,” Numbers sighed, as he snuggled closer to the flannel. “I have a boyfriend and he gets VERY jealous so you better beat it.”

Wrench suppressed a laugh. Oh my god, Grady was so high on meds. Wes still moved closer, and Grady pushed him away, Wes laughed and shook Grady’s shoulders, gently. Grady blinked and squinted in the dark. 

“Listen man, you’re cute and all, but I got a boyfriend, like I said, you gotta go,” Grady yawned, and started closing his eyes. 

Wes shook his shoulders again and signed slowly and directly in his face. _It’s me, dumbass._

Grady looked confused then his eyes widened. “Wes!” he gasped. _You’re back!_ Grady’s face broke into a sleepy smile and he stretched, thin arms wrapping around Wes’ neck. “You were gone for soooooo long.” 

Wes laughed and moved his arms so he could sign in front of Grady’s face. _You are so high right now._

Grady frowned, clearly confused. “I’m what?”

Wes laughed again and shook his head, planting a kiss on Grady’s open lips. Grady practically melted into Wes, moaning and kissing him deeper and harder. As much as Wes enjoyed it, he knew he’d rather kiss Grady when he was sober. He was cute, all confused and sweet, even if it was a little strange to see him that way. But Wes missed that spark, that fresh anger, that moment when Grady would shove him and call him names then boss him around him and then kiss him hard and fast. And Wes loved it, loved his tiny, passionate, angry boyfriend. So, he pulled back, much to Grady’s confusion.

_What?_

_You should get some rest._ Wes signed.

Grady rolled his eyes. “Not even tired,” he mumbled, yawning and scooting closer to Wes. 

_Yeah. Right._

“I’m serious, I could stay up for like…. ever,” Grady mumbled, eyes flickering, closing shut. 

Wes smiled. “Move...over...” He didn’t know how his voice sounded, didn’t think it sounded right or nice, but Grady’s eyes were closed. 

Grady’s eyes opened ever so slightly, and he looked at Wes and then compiled, slowly flipping over on his side, back to Wes, but not before he said. “You sound so...like a sexy husky man….”

Wes snorted and wrapped his arms around Grady, who snuggled closer. 

“But I like it better when we sign,” Grady leaned over his shoulder, making sure Wes could see his face so he could read his lips. “We’re in our own world, y'know, just you….and me….” He mumbled something else softly into Wes’ flannel that he was still holding. He sighed and his breathing became calm and slow. 

Wes smiled, and buried his face into Grady’s shoulder. Just him and Wes. Their own world. Yeah. He could live life like that.

*****************************************************************************

Numbers was shirtless, reveling in the warmness of May. He was wearing slacks, they had just finished a job an hour ago, and he hadn't bothered to change, just took off his shirt. He had his upper shoulder wrapped in plastic protecting a new tattoo. Wrench had frowned in confusion when he saw it. It was a simple black and white tattoo of an old fashioned tarot card on his shoulder blade, [the Two of Cups.](https://scontent-lga3-1.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/sh0.08/e35/s640x640/75426194_169498467470718_7628770176218524579_n.jpg?_nc_ht=scontent-lga3-1.cdninstagram.com&_nc_cat=106&_nc_ohc=OwoO8VvtaOIAX98njH0&oh=3f25f144fe303f48de9b0c1e77b7180b&oe=5E909611) Numbers had give no explanation for what it meant or why he had gotten it, but that was usually what happened when he got new tattoos. Wrench had looked up the meaning on his own, a day later when he stopped at a library, and smiled, keeping the information to himself.

After they got home that evening, Numbers had cracked open their window and slunk out on the fire escape to smoke and enjoy the night air. He heard Wrench approach, heard the clattering of the window being opened further, Wrench was much taller than him. They had duct-taped part of the window, Numbers had jokingly bet that Wrench couldn’t punch through glass, he was wrong, and Wrench had a busted hand for two weeks. 

It was a noisy night in Fargo, the first week it had been consistently warm and people were out and about, restaurants opening out their outside patios, bars lengthening their hours, families staying in parks as the sun didn’t set so fast, and Numbers loved it. Well, not the people necessarily, but being a quiet observer above in their apartment, out in the cool breeze. He had always hated the winter and was thankful for the changing seasons.

Wrench clambered out past the ledge, next to him, tucking his long limbs in so he could sit next to Grady. He didn’t swing his legs off the fire escape stoop like Numbers but did take a drag from Numbers’ cigarette. He was holding something in his hand, Numbers noticed. It was peach colored, and made of tight fabric, and was that-

_Is that my binder?_

Wrench nodded. _Found while I was cleaning._ Cleaning meant taking dirty clothes out to either the laundromat or the dumpster depending on how much blood there was. It also meant throwing out moldy takeout containers and empty beer cans. They didn’t exactly live glamorously. Numbers was a bit of a neat freak but was often too busy or too drunk to really care. 

_Why didn’t you throw it out?_ Numbers signed, kind of annoyed seeing it again as he took it from Wrench. He felt the nylon and spandex between his fingers, rubbing a bloodstain he had never been able to get it out. He remembered that stain, he had only been wearing the binder for a month, he was so angry he had gotten it stained. Now he couldn’t care less what happened to it. His binder had helped him so much yet it was the cause of so much discomfort and pain. He was done with it. 

Numbers looked up and Wrench shrugged, putting out his cigarette. He dug in his pocket and flicked on a lighter. _Figured you might wanna burn it._

Numbers gave a wide-toothed grin, and leaned over, and kissed Wrench. _You fucking know me so well._

Wrench gave a small smile, got up, and ducked back inside. He emerged after he grabbed some old newspapers and files from their floor and threw them down on the edge of their fire escape. Numbers stood up and tossed his binder in the middle. Wrench handed him the lighter, and there was no hesitation, no moment of mourning, he simply lit a ratty piece of newspaper and threw it on the pile. The other papers caught immediately, the binder took a minute or two, but eventually caught as well, the flame dipping to the bottom before re-surging and consuming the fabric, quickly.

“Good fucking riddance,” Numbers muttered. Wrench nudged him and made a face. _Go on._

Numbers looked confused for a moment, then looked back at the pile, and felt a million things surge through his chest, his chest that was all him, finally, all him. “FUCK!” he let out a yell. He glanced over at Wrench who was grinning and nodding.

“AUGH! FUCK! AHHHHH!” Numbers screamed, his face getting a little red at the strain. He let out a few more hollers and streams of curses, with Wrench just stood there laughing and nodding. 

“Hey! _Testa di merida!_ What the fuck is your problem?!” one of the cooks from the restaurant shouted from below. 

Numbers knew they looked crazy, with him shirtless and screaming, Wrench just laughing, and actual flames licking up the side of the fire escape. But he didn’t give a shit. 

“Hey! How about you fuck off and mind your fucking business?!” Numbers leaned over the edge and shouted at him. 

“I’ll call the cops!! You’re making a fucking scene, there are families around!” 

Suddenly there was a BANG and a flash, and the cook gave a yelp and ran back inside. Numbers turned around and Wrench was putting his gun down. Numbers looked at him in disbelief. 

Wrench raised an eyebrow. _What? He was making a scene._

Numbers broke out into laughter and Wes gave a grin. The flames were still going strong, there was the sound of distant sirens, and the breeze tousled their hair.

“Fuck,” Numbers sighed, and looked over at Wrench, who had his gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans and was now leaned over the railing with Numbers. The sirens were getting louder. Wrench was smiling, looking at Numbers who grinned back, and said, “Never liked this place anyways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a sappy chaotic end for the boys! this was so fun to write. i also project onto numbers as i too have passed out in the shower and thrown up in a takeout bag. 
> 
> thanks to winterwinterwinter for giving me the idea of burning numbers' binder and RiddleBlack for the tarot card tattoo!!

**Author's Note:**

> i had so much fun writing this shoutout to winterwinterwinter for the fuel to write messy young wrenchers!! writing wrench just absolutely going ape-shit, losing it on transphobic ableist people while his boyfriend watches in a corner just waters my crops and clears my skin. but yeah chapter 2 is much more fluffy and goofy, lots of tenderness....thanks for reading!


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